


Desiree

by lazarus_girl



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-03
Updated: 2010-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"It was silly to get her hopes up, to dare to want Naomi back in her life ..." </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU. Set during the early part of S3. Inspired Laura Nyro's '[Desiree](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=32WKVb-U_U4).'
> 
> Originally posted at my Livejournal. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.

_***_

_Oh my darlin’ Desiree._   
_You make my heart feel so free._   
_And I’d like to know, why do I love you so?_   
_Oh my darling Desiree._

***

Emily doesn’t know how this stuff happens, how she manages to let herself be lead into this … crap. Given that she’s lived with Katie and her grand plans for just over sixteen years, and can predict the warning signs with the greatest of ease, she always thought there would come a time where she’d just tell her to fuck off and do whatever she wanted on her own. Nice theory, but in practice, it’s not so simple. Where she’s concerned, resistance is futile. It was either go along with this ridiculous bollocks or get bitched at and picked on – she was the loner, the loser, it was wrong that she never had a boyfriend or any friends that weren’t also Katie’s friends – until couldn’t take anymore and gave in.

This time, she barely got a chance to speak before she was railroaded into it all. The conversation lasted less than five minutes, and was briefly – make that _very_ briefly – an argument, held while she was attempting to do reading for English and Katie to curl her hair without getting third degree burns.

“They’ll never let us have a party, Katie,” she’d said, flatly, moments after Katie had suggested it, not looking up from her copy of Hamlet.

“Which is why we don’t fucking tell them!” Katie shot back, with typical venom.

“But –” Emily looks up at last, seeing her sister flinch when she winds her hair too tightly round the curling wand.

“Fuck sake, Emily, if you want to be a fucking loser all your life, then go ahead, but I’m not, yeah? It’s the first week of college. We can make loads of mates!”

She didn’t say anything else. She couldn’t. Katie knows what buttons to push, and that’s the problem. It’s _always_ been the problem.

***

She’s a smart girl, she knows it’s going to end in disaster, that their parents will come home early from their anniversary dinner and the house will look like a bomb’s hit it; that there will be remnants of drinks and bodies doing _things_ in rooms – possibly _her_ room – or on their mum’s prized dry clean only suede sofa from DFS. Worse still, she knows that they’ll probably be grounded for the rest of the term, thus royally fucking up her plan for Emily 2.0. The Emily that’s confident and cool, who gets asked out, chatted up, danced with or maybe even kissed. Being stuck at home with a mardy-faced Katie for weeks was hardly the best way to begin breaking lifetime habits, to step out of her sister’s shadow and finally become her own person.

How could she take on the world, and sample all the amazingly lush girls in it – yes, girls – lovely, beautiful girls, when she was under house arrest?

This wasn’t her idea; so therefore, whatever happens later on is none of her doing. It’s all because her sister’s a brainless, selfish bitch who never listens to anything she says unless it’s prefaced by the words “boys,” “make-up” or “Danny Guillermo.” If ever she manages to say all three in the course of a single sentence, she gives herself mental bonus points.

College was meant to be the fresh start, the new leaf, no one they knew was going to Roundview – well, there _was_ someone, but the likelihood of that someone coming to their party was so slim it’s a negative fucking value – so she could basically be whatever she wanted, whoever she wanted. She wouldn’t be shy, wouldn’t be nervous and wouldn’t be walked over. She was just an accessory and she was tired of it. For all anyone in their form knew, they could’ve been the most popular girls in their school. It wouldn’t be much of a lie, Katie _was_ the most popular girl, and now she was intent on doing the same all over again.

***

It’s ridiculous how it’s snowballed. They’ve even decorated the living room with shitloads of pink fairy lights that are all set to different phases so it’s giving her a fucking headache, but Katie will bite her head off if she dares to ask for them to be switched off. She doesn’t know how they’re a mere four days into college and Katie’s decided in her infinite wisdom that they needed – yes, those where her exact words – to have the first party of the year, like they live in Alderley bloody Edge.

The second their parents announced their plans, Katie tore her eyes away from Hollyoaks and looked at her like all her Christmases and birthdays had come at once. You could literally hear the light bulb ding above head, and she had the same expression of complete and utter fucking joy that everyone in their form did whenever Sam Bailey – the year eleven ‘stud-muffin’ – had broken up with his girlfriend of the week and was fair game again.

The only reason she was making such a fuss is because she has an irrepressible need to be liked and adored. Emily understands it, to an extent, since no one actually plans to spend the vast majority of their teen years alone and lonely, do they? Truth be told, she wouldn’t have to try very hard though to get people to properly like her and have decent mates, but that’s her problem she tries too hard and wants too much from people. They think she’s it because of that stupid twat Danny, but Katie being Katie, always wants more, wants everyone to adore her. Really, she’s only doing it so Effy Stonem – tall and mysterious and amazingly beautiful – will be mates with her. She was the first to get an invite and the first to accept, with the only condition being that she could bring her friend, Pandora – nice, bit strange, but sweet – and Emily’s glad of someone to talk to since she doesn’t seem quite the same as Effy or her sister. In fact, Pandora’s not anything like anyone and that’s reason enough for her to take an interest.

What’s even more ridiculous is the sheer amount of people that have been invited, most of which neither of them even know. Within a day, it’d spread round the college like sodding flash mob, and Katie’s texted to the point she’s probably got RSI. Thankfully, she’s usually surgically attached to her phone, so no one really notices anything different. The list she had been so diligently making was abandoned by day two. After Effy, everyone just seemed to know and wanted to come because it’s like she has everyone under some weird spell, hearts trailing in her wake or something. She’s kind of been pulled into Effy’s orbit too, since they’ve already started hanging about in a small little group with people from their form, mostly out of habit than any kind of common interest. Besides Effy and Pandora, there’s Cook – bit of prick, mouthy, but a good laugh; Freddie – the prettiest boy Emily’s ever seen, and the current object of Katie’s affections, so that means he has about as much depth as a puddle – and lastly, there’s JJ – shy, sweet, and does these funny little slight-of-hand magic tricks that are actually quite cool – who seems to come with Freddie and Cook in some sort of package deal, since she’s yet to see him on his own.

***

So, here they are four days later, and Emily’s dreading it, posted as the fucking look out, stood in the bay window, watching the street, waiting for God knows who to round the corner into their road and descend. Katie has to be told the second anyone arrives, so she can play the little hostess, just like she did when they were little. Being the hostess, she’s in the kitchen making this punch stuff, which basically consists of a shitload of alcohol and the least orange juice that they can get away with. Emily tried a bit in the testing stage and it was fucking lethal then so it’s probably even fucking worse now, because Katie always does double measures and her measures are like triples to begin with.

The lemonade and the coke are for show, they’ll never be drunk on their own, mostly likely used as mixers, if at all. The only proper non-alcoholic thing in the fridge is mango juice for JJ. Freddie told her that it helps if he gets locked on or stressed because of his aspersers, so despite the fact that Emily had already told her this – twice – the second it came out of Freddie’s mouth it was gospel, and they purposefully went to Tesco’s to get some. Of course, she only did it to make Freddie think she gives a toss, as opposed to _actually_ giving a toss, because that wouldn’t be very cool, and wouldn’t be very Katie. She didn’t care about much of what happened beyond the end of her nose, and she’s barely spoken to anyone but Freddie and Effy since college started because she won’t get anything out of it.

Even though Emily thought what she was wearing was perfectly acceptable, Katie had other ideas, and made her change, since even though they didn’t have a dress code, she insisted that “Fitches had standards” and Emily wasn’t meeting them. In fact, if there were a dress code, she wouldn’t be allowed in. It took another two changes before Katie thought it was fine for them to be seen together in public. Now, she doesn’t look like herself at all – whatever her ‘self’ is, that’s still open to question, and big questions at that – she looks like Katie’s carbon copy, right down to the figure hugging dress and heels; the liberal eye make-up and that disgusting wet-look lipstick that just feels sticky and horrible, which she’s forbidden to touch or think of wiping off ever since Katie forced her to sit down and made her up like she was her own lifesize Barbie. She said they’d look ‘mint,’ look ‘hot,’ but Emily just thinks she looks like a fucking tart. An imposter.

To make matters worse, she’s down thirty quid, because once James found out what was going on – by reading Katie’s phone when it was on the table, because he’s a nosy little shit – they had to bribe him to keep his gob shut and go along with their mum’s babysitting-turned-sibling bonding plan before they could get him out the door to Gordon’s when Home and Away had finished earlier on. It turned out to be the longest half hour of their lives, and the entirety of it was spent with one eye on the telly and one on the clock, panicking when Mum went upstairs for a second outfit change and Dad couldn’t find his keys.

Twenty seconds after they left, they were racing up the stairs for the bathroom, fighting to get to it first.

***

Secretly, a tiny – miniscule – part of her is a bit excited and more than a little hopeful about tonight and she can’t really put it down to the two Red Bull – their pre-party, pre _anything_ primer – drunk in quick succession, while they shared a sneaky fag in the garden, and Katie answered phone call after phone call of random people asking for directions. Katie’s so hyped up that it’s kind of infectious, but it’s not really to do with that either. It’s entirely to do with the quick, constructed to be off-hand, casual text to Effy, asking if there was anyone else she could think of inviting, because Katie had invited too many boys and they needed to ‘even things up.’ That wasn’t a total lie, since if it’s anything that her sister does well, it’s chatting up lads. Girls are either jealous of her or scared of her, so she rarely makes friends with them, which kind of makes her striking up a friendship with Effy a bit weird.

What Emily really wanted to do was to get Effy to ask Naomi – the most gorgeous girl, well, ever – to come because she didn’t have the guts. Naomi was her weakness, in more ways than fucking one.

They hadn’t really seen or spoken to each other since a rather awkward kissing incident in middle school, and now it turned out they were in the same form at college. The closest they’d gotten thus far was exchanging glances and a few awkward ‘hellos’ in the corridor. Given their history, there was no way Naomi would come if she did ask; they were never really friends to begin with. She didn’t really look the partying type, and was sort of on the outside of their group, kind of there, but not there. Still, the fact that Effy had gotten to the stage of proper conversation meant she was already in a better position to do the inviting. Emily had seen them talking already, stood out by the science buildings earlier in the week, smoking – she was jealous then, and the same feeling surges in her now at the memory. She hates herself for it. Better still, they were in the same philosophy class, so it was possible Effy could think of asking without any prompting; possible in the way that anyone can be an astronaut if they train for it.

So, not fucking likely.

Though, she did have one tiny glimmer of hope outside of Effy. With it being the start of the college year, everyone was still in that weird mode of being especially eager to make friends, so they’re all being overly nice – these things have a window, a very short window, Emily knows from experience, and after tonight, that window will have closed for good – so she could finally repair the damage that night, and all that came after it, caused. Ever since it happened, Emily’s wanted to make amends with her, but she never thought she’d see her again, so it was all faint wishing, and very real regretting. All that changed when she heard Miss Reedy call out her name, ‘Naomi Campbell’ – yes, just like the model – when they were all in the gym during induction on Monday.

For the briefest of moments, their eyes met across the rows of people and she had no idea what to do. She felt her stomach drop and somersault all at once. Her pulse raced, flooding her body with adrenaline and a multitude of feelings. First there was happiness, sadness, nervousness, and then just plain fear. The only constant was the loud, speedy thumping of her heart, reminding her that this was actually happening instead of being a rather vivid dream. Then, Naomi turned away again, rolling her eyes skywards and letting out a sigh. Emily didn’t look over after that; it was proof enough of what Naomi didn’t feel.

Seeing her again stirred up a lot of things, most of which Emily had tried hard to ignore for the rest of the week– like how her eyes seemed bluer and her mouth was just that little bit more perfect, so that kissing her would be even better. The Naomi in her head and the Naomi in front of her didn’t match up, not in the slightest, and that was intrigue enough to bring her back to the forefront of Emily’s mind, if she’d ever really left it, that is. Even so, she can’t help but feel like it was a good thing they’d crossed paths again. It was silly to get her hopes up, to dare to want Naomi back in her life, but she can’t seem to stop herself from wishing. She’d always been drawn to her, inexplicably, time and time again. The fact Emily knew so little about her just made it that much worse.

To her surprise, Effy replied to her earlier message with a quick and rather cryptic, ‘I know who,’ and that was that. Emily didn’t text back, because she didn’t want an answer, mostly because she didn’t want to hear it. The truth had never been kind.

***

Maybe this was some sort of cosmic test? She wasn’t really sure, but she’d find out soon enough, because now there were people, a lot of people at the top of their road, and she’s craning to see anyone she knows. There’s no sign of anyone familiar yet, and of course, by familiar, what she really means is no one has platinum blonde hair.

“Katie, I think there are … I think they’re here,” she turns away from the window, calling loudly to her sister.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, what you mean _think_? You can be proper thick sometimes, Ems,” Katie comes bounding in, with a drink in each hand, surprisingly steady given how much she’s downed already.

“ _I_ don’t know who you invited, remember?” Emily shrugs, going to the door when the bell rings for the second time.

“I don’t know who _you_ invited either,” Katie throws her a look, the special one that she reserves for Naomi and Naomi alone.

“She won’t fucking come, alright?!” Emily snaps.

“She better fucking not, I don’t want her hanging about. She might go all lezzer bitch on you again,” Katie makes a disgusted face, nose wrinkling up.

Emily cuts her off with a stern, “Shut up,” before she has chance to say anything else.

“Whatever,” she mutters in reply, taking a sip of her drink. “Fuck sake, open the fucking door!” she yells, barging past and yanking it open. They’re met with half of the college football team to a chorus of cheers and wolf-whistles. They’re already drunk. So much for not letting people in if they’re wasted. “Come in boys,” Katie continues with a purr and they all cheer again.

It’s like someone’s thrown a switch.

“I see you invited Roundview’s finest then?!” Emily looks over the boys, wondering what primordial swamp they’d recently dragged themselves out of. All hair wax and heavy aftershave. No brain whatsoever.

“Jesus Christ Emily, have a fucking drink and loosen up a bit, yeah?” Katie spits out, with a disapproving look and thrusts the other bottle she’s holding into Emily’s hand. It’s bubblegum WKD. She hates bubblegum WKD, but she takes it from her anyway. She knows better than to argue.

As soon as the door closes, the music starts up, loud and with heavy bass. Dizzee fucking Rascal, Emily notes, making a face. Like everything else her sister’s arranged, it’s for show; she’s in a phase of trying to be all cool and edgy, that and the only thing Danny plays in his hideous yellow boy racer car is rap and dubstep, so it’s all they had to hand.

“Doesn’t look like I’ve got much fucking choice, does it?” Emily yells over the noise, knowing her sister will never hear.

They all make their way into the living room and Emily’s pushed farther and farther back towards the stairs. She sits down on the forth tread from the bottom, sipping idly on her drink. Some party this was going to be. She shakes her head, fending off their sleazy fucking looks and sly winks with the iciest glare she can muster. She’ll have to get a lot drunker before she can even think of speaking to any of them. Katie’s revelling in the attention, giggling at them. They’re swarming round her and fawning over her, like always. That’s how Katie likes them. Man candy. Just there for something to look at and amuse herself with, like Danny, her shiny little trophy. It works both ways though, that’s exactly how he treats her. There’s nothing like love involved. He doesn’t care enough, and neither does she.

Emily wonders if not caring might be a better course of action. After all, Katie’s never been alone, has she?

So far, it’s shaping up to be exactly the same as every other party she’s ever been to, where Katie has all the fun and she just sits in the corner waiting for it to end or tidying up people’s empties and stopping shit from getting broken, like some little mother hen. Well, not this time. Something had to change, and change doesn’t happen by itself. She stands up, taking a deep breath and a long swig of her drink before heading towards the living room. This time, it wouldn’t all go Katie’s way and she’d have some fun of her own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"She’s still got a grip on things, even if no one else has ..."_

Half an hour later, Emily’s forgotten why she was so nervous. She’s trying to be somewhat sensible, given that Katie gets caught up with it all and just takes whatever drinks are given to her, so she ends up drunk quite quickly, and when that happens she gets even more confident and flirty, and she always gets more than she can handle in return. It’s always left to Emily to bail her out, so she can never really let go. It’s tiring, playing the adult, while Katie gets wasted. Her grand plans changed the second she got in the living room.

She not exactly drunk yet, because she knows how to pace herself, she’s more, tipsy, no, merry. Yes, she was merry. Taking another sip of her drink – her third, given to her by a tall boy from their English class, who looks like he should be in a boyband – she laughs at the thought, and how Dickensian it sounds. The boy thinks she’s laughing at him, and clinks his bottle next to hers. He’s getting prettier than when Katie introduced them. She was all flirty and gushy because he’s from London, half-Greek and already seventeen, struggling to pronounce his name – Constantine – giggling a bit when he repeated it. So, he’s just Con now. The irony of it hasn’t escaped her. After makeovers, matchmaking is Katie’s main joy in life, and Emily’s in no mood to deny her. Usually, they’re boring shallow fuckers, but for once, he’s actually halfway decent and it doesn’t kill her to breathe the same air for a bit.

Katie keeps looking over at them every now and again, grinning at her, mouthing ‘do something’ every so often, then glaring when Emily just stares back, having done nothing but drink. Emily knows he’s talking to her, but she isn’t really listening and so she just nods along, watching his mouth move, strangely transfixed by it. The music is so loud, that she couldn’t really hear anyway. They’ve barely been able to hear the doorbell, so people have resorted to knocking on the windows or flicking the letterbox to get their attention.

There’s been a steady stream of people for a while now, and to Emily’s relief, a few more of them are girls. Most of them are the stuck up bitches from the beauty school, so they’ve spent their time congregated around Katie, and not saying a word to her. Still, they’re pretty to look at, incredibly pretty in some cases, but oddly, she’s feeling quite lonely, despite the fact there’s loads of people here, some milling about in the living room and the kitchen – emptying their fridge no fucking doubt – whilst others are beginning to filter out into the garden to smoke and do fuck knows what else.

They’re starting to lose control on it, she can feel it already. Worse still, she’s starting to worry that no one they actually know will come, and it’ll be like this all night, stuck in this social sodding nightmare: revenge of the morons.

She’s still got a grip on things, even if no one else has. A sliding grip was a grip all the same.

***

Somehow, she and Constantine have made it to the sofa, and they’re sat together, squashed up close because there are people either side proper full on snogging and it’s making her uncomfortable, making her painfully aware of the fact this is what most people are here for, maybe it’s what she’s after too. Any second, she thinks Constantine might try something, because he keeps leaning over, brushing her hand and her arm unnecessarily when he gestures or switches his drink to the opposite hand. It’s sort of terrifying; the idea that he might kiss her, but in a way, she wants him to, because it’ll be so public and brazen that it’ll keep Katie content for weeks. The next song, she’ll do it. Another sip. She can pretend. It wouldn’t be the first time.

***

There’s a loud knocking at the door, and she’s about to leave Katie to it, because she’s been up and down like a bastard yo-yo – or Cinderella, yes, and Katie’s one of the fucking Ugly Sisters – letting people in for ages. She’s on the way to get another get another drink, when they knock again, louder still, but Katie doesn’t bat an eyelid.

“Fuck sake,” Emily breathes, slamming her empty bottle down on the coffee table, squeezing past a boy from her history class who’s done nothing but stare at her tits all night.

“You’ll come back?” Constantine asks, sitting forward, and she suddenly remembers he’s there.

She fakes a smile and nods at him, and he leans back again, settling in to wait. Emily turns away. With a sigh, she pushes her fringe out of her eyes, wishing she could pin it back or better still, cut the fucking thing off. It’s all going so perfectly for her sister that Emily wants to bring it all crashing down, so they’re equal in misery, because really, even with the others here, this is fucking terrible. Emily wants for something to happen, for someone start a fight, throw up all over the carpet or break something, so it can all end and she can get the hell out of here.

It’s almost a relief when she opens the door and recognises Cook, grinning at her on the other side, hands in pockets with Freddie and JJ in tow, hovering behind him. Freddie gives a little wave, and she feels better suddenly. JJ smiles at her shyly, looking incredibly out of place. Good job they got the Mango juice.

“Emily right?” Cook points, coming closer.

“Yeah. Hi,” she replies, with a slight smile.

“Freddie!” Katie says, appearing at her side out of nowhere. Her face lights up, genuinely – Emily’s one of the few people who can tell the difference – and all those boys she’s been holding court with are about to get their hearts broken, poor sods.

“Ha, there’s two of you!” Cook laughs, looking between them, amused.

Katie’s demeanour changes immediately and Emily sees her body stiffen out of the corner of her eye. She braces herself.

“Who invited _him_?!” Katie asks, jabbing a finger in his direction. Emily just shrugs, glaring at her, because clearly, this was her doing. Freddie didn’t go anywhere alone.

“Yeah, mate, they’re twins,” Freddie shakes his head, patting Cook on the shoulder and coming up to them both. Katie’s all smiles again, pushing the door back to let him pass. “Ignore him, he doesn’t get out much,” he adds, with a wink, stepping over the threshold.

“Oi, that’s not nice!”

“Oh, you’re a big boy, you’ll get over it,” Freddie replies, dryly, and for a moment, Emily thinks he’s far too smart for her sister.

“Drinks are the in kitchen, babe,” Katie murmurs sweetly, touching his arm and he gives a little nod, heading off. She turns, looking at him for a moment before turning back, a dreamy smile on her face.

“Come on, then Jay,” Cook turns to him and motions toward the house, like he’s calling a dog to heel, and Emily can’t help but feel strangely angry about it. To her surprise, it seems to snap him out of whatever planet he’s been on for the last few minutes. “Don’t want to be stood out here all night, yeah?”

“Oh, yes. Hello girls,” he says politely, and comes up the steps.

“Hi,” Emily smiles at him, jabbing Katie in the side so she lets him pass.

“Now then girls, where shall we start?” Cook rubs his hands together, gleeful.

“You aren’t starting anywhere,” Katie steps in front of her, replying for them both. Emily lets out a long breath, trying not to be infuriated by it.

She does it all the time. She does it too much.

“Katie, just let him in,” Emily sighs, suddenly in desperate need of a drink and tired of the games.

“Am I fuck!” she shoots back.

“Really? Well, you might want to rethink that, sweetheart,” Cook sniffs, rocking back on his heels, putting his hands into his pockets. “Because, you haven’t seen my plus one,” he continues, with a smile.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she replies, irritated. Emily daren’t move for fear she might slap him.

“Girls,” he reaches into his pocket, “Meet M, D, M and A. They’re good mates of mine.”

“Jesus!” Emily breathes, her eyes widening as he grins at them, snapping his fingers so the little packet of pills flops down, and he holds them there so they get a good look.

“Fuck sake, put them away! That nosy old bat next door’s always at the window, looking! She’ll have the police on us!” Katie exclaims, dramatically, pulling Cook through the door by his polo shirt, leaving Emily to close it behind them.

“Thought you might change your mind!” Cook laughs, loudly. He opens up the packet and drops a tablet into his mouth without as much as a second thought.

“Excuse me? I thought we were sharing?” Katie eyes him, attempting to snatch the bag away.

“Oi, oi, no one likes a greedy girl!” he withholds it for a moment, out of her reach. “Patience is a virtue, babe,” he adds, before taking two pills out and laying them on the open palm of his other hand.

Two tiny smiley faces are on the front, beaming up at them in invitation.

Emily’s not quite sure she should be so impressed, but still, anything that could liven things up at the moment was welcome, even if it was chemically induced. Fuck it. The last time she took it also turned into the greatest night of her life. Just the memory of it is enough to make her tempt fate all over again. They were older, they were wiser, there could be more.

“Hold on, you’re only little ‘uns, best take half, yeah?” Cook quickly amends his ration.

“The fuck?!” is all that Katie manages, glaring at him.

“Cook, we’ve done it before, fuck’s sake,” Emily offers, hoping he’ll change his mind, but he just shakes his head.

“Take it or leave it, girls. There are plenty of people in there who’d take it off my hands,” he shrugs.

Katie steps forward, “Fine, you tight git,” she hisses, and snatches it away. “We’ll split it.”

Before Emily can protest, Katie’s snapped it in half, and thrust the remainder into her hand. She looks at it one more time, wondering whether to give it back, but she knows Katie will just give her that look, the one that says she’s a baby and never takes any risks. Without hesitation, she swallows it, taking Katie’s drink from her with a smirk and chugging some of it down.

“Fuck me, look at you!” Cook laughs again, loud and throaty.

“Cunt, that’s mine!” Katie yells, when Emily drains the rest of the bottle on purpose.

“I thought we were sharing?” Emily replies, playing innocent, in a sudden moment of boldness.

“Ha fucking ha!” Katie turns, and sticks her fingers up, marching off in Freddie’s direction.

“I fucking love yous already!” Cook shakes his head, grinning. “Come on then, pocket rocket, where’s the party?!” he asks, putting his arm around her shoulders.

Emily lets herself revel in the attention a moment, and leads him into the living room, and they disappear into the overcrowded mass. She loses Cook somewhere, when she goes to get another drink, desperately trying to find something decent instead of crappy alcopops, but that’s all that’s left, and she isn’t in the mood to go and search elsewhere. She spots JJ at the table, doing card tricks for the Beauty Bimbos and they’re lapping it up like he’s bloody David Blaine.

She goes back into the other room, starting to sway a bit when she recognises the song that’s playing. It’s dancier than before; techno, electro, something like that. Either Katie got a better DJ in her absence or she’s raided their music upstairs. Besides, she likes it better in here, where she’s not expected to make conversation. She lets it wash over her; drowning in the sound of it, hearing her own heart somewhere, beating out the same rhythm. It’s easier to drift, to forget; to forget what’s not happening, who’s not here and how it’s not going to plan and it’s nothing like she imagined, which means it’s actually _exactly_ like she imagined. Whenever Naomi’s name pops into her head, she takes a sip of her drink, pushing her into the farthest reaches of her mind. It’ll matter less, eventually. She’ll matter less eventually.

***

Eventually, the MDMA kicks in, and things get a lot better. It takes the edge of everything, so suddenly it’s all about twenty times better than before Cook and the others arrived. Loosen up, have a drink, Katie said; she’s nothing but obedient. Fuck, she loves this stuff, it makes her confident, makes her love everything and everyone and it’s all so easy to talk and dance because shy, nervous Emily disappears and she doesn’t give a fuck about what anyone else thinks. She feels free, and she doesn’t care that it’s too hot and there are far too many people squashed up in her parents’ living room or that her sister’s being a total slag letting Freddie feel her up in the corner while everyone watches. No, none of it matters at all, thanks to Cook and his little smiley-faced friends.

“Want to dance?” Constantine whispers, suddenly, hot in her ear, as he snakes an arm around her waist. He flashes a smile and Emily catches herself staring, because it’s kind of beautiful, how his whole face lights up at the same time. She touches his cheek, and it’s nice, and warm, but fucking weird because it’s like she’s touching air, touching a ghost, like he’s not really there.

“Yes,” she hears herself say, like her voice doesn’t belong to her anymore.

Why not? It’s just dancing, and it’s boring doing it alone. He pulls her closer and becomes very real. She’s against him, or he’s against her, she’s not sure, but they’re together, moving in time to the music and he has his hands on her hips. She downs the rest of her drink in one go, just leaning back against him, feeling it all. After a few moments he leans down to lessen the height difference between them, and it’s better. She’s letting him do all the work, do what he wants. His mouth brushes against her neck, once, twice. Emily’s sure that she can feel her sister’s eyes on them, watching, pleased, and thinking she’s finally going to be normal.

The music changes, to something slower, dirtier, and her eyes flick across to the opposite side of the room, and just like she hoped, she sees Katie, stood next to a blonde boy wearing big headphones next behind the decks he brought along, and her brows furrow momentarily at the sight, because she realises she wants Katie to look, she wants them all to see. Constantine starts to move differently, and it’s then, she realises it: he wants her, and it’s enough. He seems to sense it, and when she turns away from her sister and tilts her head back, he’s already there, and their mouths brushing together accidentally, quickly, and it takes her by surprise, but it’s a good, lovely surprise and she remembers why she likes MDMA so much. Cook will give her more next time, she’ll make him. Even more surprising is the fact she closes her eyes and kisses back, a bit chastely, and it feels nice, and he’s smiling against her lips so she does it again, and before she knows it, she’s turned in his arms and kissing him properly. In the middle of it, when she forgets he tastes of Stella, that his lips are rough and his hands are dangerously close to her arse, something in her shifts. She lets herself imagine it’s a different party, that it’s someone else; someone whose lips are soft, who has long elegant fingers and the most beautiful blue eyes she’s ever seen. Then, she kisses him, _really_ kisses him, lets his tongue into her mouth and moans at the contact, leaning up, putting her hands in his hair.

It feels like the world falls away. There’s no music anymore. No other people. Just him and her, and she can’t seem to stop herself from kissing, touching or needing more of it.

***

When her back hits the living room wall, she pulls away from him and her eyes snap open. It’s all gone and Constantine’s just stood there, smiling, expectant, still wanting. He reaches forward, brushing her fringe out of her eyes. What the fuck was she doing? Fuck, _fucking_ hell. She panics, struggling with what she’s going to say, how she’s going to escape, but there’s nothing, so she’s just there, opening and closing her mouth, and Constantine tilts his head, looking as if he might kiss her again. She can’t think, she can’t breathe. There’s a familiar ache between her thighs and she wishes it away, feels tears stinging the back of her eyes. Now her heart’s hammering hard in her chest, painfully, and her brain’s entirely stuck over the fact that she’s just imagined kissing Naomi, and it was far, far too vivid.

“Sorry, I have to –” she pushes him away, and he just looks confused.

“Emily, are you …?”

She doesn’t answer him, and instead she just stumbles away feeling lightheaded. She wants it all to stop, right this very second. No, what she really wants is for everyone and everything to disappear. Then, none of this would have happened and she’d be upstairs in bed, tucked in nice and tight, like the good little Emsy her parents think she is, instead of being drunk and plummeting down off MDMA after letting some random boy stick his tongue down her throat and grope her whilst imagining it was a girl. A girl she desperately wants to be in that same bed. A girl that she’s dying to fuck. A girl she adores. A girl who isn’t even here and doesn’t really know about any of the adoring or how much she’s wanted.

Constantine calls out her name a few times, and she’s sure he’s following her, but she doesn’t look back. She daren’t. Struggling on, she pushes through the people, kicking over cans and bottles as she goes. Air, that’s what she needs, yes, air and space. Space to think, space to be left alone and space to sort her head out, because it’s all so fucking confusing. It takes her a few seconds to focus when she’s hit with a blast of cooler air from outside, and she thinks she might be sick, but the wave passes through her as quickly as it arrived.

She carries on going down the garden, past the people on the patio, smoking. The whole horrible, disgusting, sordid thing replays in her head as she weaves farther and farther away from them, the same words round her head in a constant loop: that she was fucking stupid and this whole thing with Naomi needed to stop, dead, because it just hurt, and that hurt was worse than before. How could she want her this much? How could she need her this much? Why, even now, when she’d just reached a whole new of fucked up did she just want Naomi to appear of nowhere and kiss her, just like Constantine had? Finally, she runs out of breath, and collapses against the old oak tree at the bottom, staring up at the night sky and taking in huge, shaky breaths as she tries to calm herself down. She lets herself cry then, where no one can see, letting her tears flow freely, silently, down her cheeks as she sinks down into the grass.

Whatever she did, this would never go away, and being Naomi’s friend would never be enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"There are degrees of lying; she’s learnt that over the years..."_

Now she’s finally managed to stop crying, she feels strangely empty. She’s sitting, quietly, hugging her knees, wondering what the fuck to do with herself and how she’s going to rescue it all. It’s her own fault really, that the party or her idea of what the party would be, had gone to shit. There wasn’t even room for her to be sad anymore, she was just angry. Angry that she’d tell herself get carried along, and placed so much stock in Naomi coming.

If nothing else, this whole episode has proven Katie right, whether she witnessed it or not. Emily’s the loner, the loser, and when it comes to Naomi, she's fucking pathetic. Emily 2:0, what bollocks, she was barely Emily 1:0 at the moment. As mistakes go, this one’s pretty fucking huge, right up there with Katie getting so monumentally wasted at Sophie Covington’s party when they left school that she ended up being sick in Sam Bailey’s lap in front of everyone. Only, somehow, this is worse to Emily, because stuff like that always happens or they still get too drunk, but end up in tears instead, but that person was rarely her. At the time, Katie was strong enough to laugh it off in public, whilst bawling about it and protesting her life was over in private. She never showed them they upset her. It’s another trait they don’t share.

***

She wants to be Katie now more than ever, and just go back in there like nothing happened and carry on, just get shitfaced, dance, and care about it tomorrow, but she doesn’t know if she can, because if Constantine or worse, Katie start asking questions, she had no idea what to say. She could lie, obviously, and she would lie, probably, but it’s lies that got her out here in the first place. Kissing some random boy was _exactly_ what she needed to do start telling the truth, wasn’t it? Was it fuck. There are degrees of lying; she’s learnt that over the years. You can have little harmless ones, like saying she and Katie were at friends’ houses, doing homework when they were really all in town, standing in line with fake ID’s. And then, there were harmful, bigger lies, like pretending she didn’t want to be with girls just to please people and get them off her back, so she could live a quiet life.

Quiet was safe and quiet was boring. Now, she wanted a fucking riot instead, and she had to at least try to get there. After all, she didn’t have a great deal left to lose. The first step was to fix things with Naomi, properly. Then, she’d stop being this dream of a person she had to remember from four years ago and be real. Yes, it’d all go right then, and she could be someone to her, be a friend even. Just be there.

***

Taking a deep breath, she looks towards the house, finally focussing on everything else; hearing the chatter of voices, laughter and music. She’s wasted enough time tying herself knots over stupid shit she can’t change, and needs to take control what she can.

Standing up, she brushes the grass off Katie’s dress, hoping there’s no muddy marks on it, because she’ll never hear the fucking end of it if there is.

“Come on,” she says, determinedly, swiping at her eyes in the hope no one will notice her make-up’s run. Given how drunk they all are, it’s not likely. Thank fuck. If she’s quick enough, once she’s in the house, she can get into the bathroom and make herself look decent before everyone spots her.

She’s still a little unsteady in her sister’s heels, and her right ankle rolls over a little as she as she starts to walk, which is weird, given she’s less drunk than before. Like everything else, that needed fixing, as soon as possible. She needed some courage and fast. She needed not to care for a while. Emily slows a bit, carefully picking out the safest path back up to the patio, squeezing past some smokers – weed, the cheeky fuckers – and some guy in a straw hat with a guitar who obviously thinks he’s Bristol’s answer to Jason Mraz or something. Even in front of this lot of potential potheads, a face full of turf would not be a good look.

They eye her a little suspiciously, and when she catches her reflection in the French doors, she gives a little gasp, realising why. The girl looking back at her wouldn’t look out of fucking place in a Crimewatch reconstruction playing the victim. Her hair’s all over the place, her make-up looks shit, all smeared and horrible; and oh, there’s a rip in Katie’s fishnets. Shit. Though it’s her house, and she’s well within her rights to tell them to get the fuck out the way, she doesn’t want to draw anymore attention to herself, so she squeezes through the small gap between the door frame and one of the faux Mraz’s entourage.

***

There are different groups of people in the living room now, and to her relief, none of them look anything like Constantine, but, sadly, none of them look anything like Naomi either. She spies Freddie and JJ in the corner, drinking, Freddie with a beer, and JJ with his mango juice. Nearby, Cook’s dancing, sorry, grinding with some dark-haired girl, exotic looking, who she remembers from politics – she was slightly quicker through the door, and got to sit next to Naomi – and his hands are superglued to her arse, while he whispers in her ear. It stirs up the shit from earlier with Constantine, and she turns away, snatching the nearest drink off the table, screwing her face up in disgust when she tastes it and realises its beer. Oh well, its drink all the same, it all gets you drunk in the end.

Hovering near the doorway, she takes it all in, searching in the hope that Effy or someone will have finally turned up. She has. There, in the middle of the room is Effy, nursing something that looks very like a Smirnoff Ice, the wrong side of bored, with Pandora at her side, looking distinctly more animated with a plastic cup in her hand. Of course, Katie’s on Effy’s other side, chatting away and gesticulating with all these big movements. Emily takes a long swig on her drink, and pushes through the other people, shoving her way a little more roughly, to get closer, in the hope that she can somehow get Effy’s attention without Katie seeing, which is fucking impossible.

As she gets nearer, camouflaging herself with some of the football lads – sometimes being small has its bonuses – and she can finally here what they’re saying, just.

“So, we would’ve come earlier, but I had to wait for my mum to say yes, and then she decided she wanted to make a cake, because she said that’s what you do for parties, isn’t it Eff?” Pandora says, in one big rush, looking to Effy at the end.

“Yes Panda, absolutely,” Effy replies, sipping idly on her drink.

“Your house is well hard to find, and we were proper starving, so we ate the cake on the way, sorry,” Pandora continues, looking genuinely apologetic.

“Erm, that’s alright,” Katie smiles, her fake one. It’s the eyes that give her away; they’re still dead, still steely. She’s eyeing Pandora warily, as if she’s something dangerous, “At least you both got here,” she adds a little more sincerely, but it’s obviously for Effy’s benefit.

“Quite a trial,” Effy states, raking a hand through her hair, and Emily sees a flicker of jealousy flash across her sister’s face. “Oh,” Effy says, after moment, when an awkward silence opens up, “I invited some extra people, hope you don’t mind.”

Emily’s heart picks up at this, and she takes a quick gulp of her drink, used to the taste now, remembering Effy’s text, and hoping against hope that it’s just one extra person, a tall blonde extra person.

“Of course not!” Katie answers, shaking her head vehemently and tacking a smile on for good measure. “Invite anyone you like, there’s no guest list or anything,” she shrugs.

Fucking hell, Katie was a magnificent liar, but in front of Effy she’s also incredibly transparent. Effy notices, and smiles back, wryly, looking her up and down briefly, like she can’t believe what she’s looking _at_. The guest list that didn’t exist is still under her bed, and Pandora isn’t on it, because of her ‘fucking weirdness.’ Emily protested that there was nothing at all wrong with her, and Katie just gave her a look, a look that said she wasn’t in any position to assess whether people are weird or not. Well, if they’d gone by Katie’s rules, they’d be sat in a considerably more empty room. Emily can’t help the small burst of laughter that escapes at the thought.

Katie’s still talking, about the music or the DJ or something. Emily’s tuned her out, focussing instead on when best to make a break for it. Effy looks up then, but she doesn’t look at all surprised, as if she knew Emily was there all along, and has finally decided to acknowledge her presence, like some distinguished aristocrat. She locks eyes with Emily, and as she takes her in, Effy’s brows furrow a little – presumably because she’s in such a mess – and for one horrible moment, Emily thinks she’s going to turn to Katie and point her out, but she doesn’t.

“Pandora has excellent taste in music, she’ll help you out, won’t you Panda?” Effy turns to her, and gives her a little pat on the back. Pandora’s face lights up.

“Course, that’d be whizzer, have you got any Lady Gaga? I love her!” she grins, taking Katie by the hand and dragging her off towards the boy and his never-ending record stack, before she can even open her mouth to say anything, and she’s looking back at Effy like she’s about to be taken off to die.

“Have fun,” Effy calls, giving Katie a little wave, and she cautiously waves back, confused.

Panda, of course, is entirely enthralled with the DJ, hanging off his hoodie sleeve as he sorts through his records. Katie’s left standing at the side of them like a spare part. Emily can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. No one gives Katie Fitch the brush off, ever. It’s fucking glorious, and for once, the hype about this cooler than cooler, enigma of a girl was actually justified.

When Katie turns away again, she comes up to her, and smiles quite differently, “Good look you’ve got going there, interesting.”

“Yeah, it’s erm, not exactly my idea,” Emily looks down at herself, feeling a blush creep up from her toes to her head in a flash. She didn’t really like attention, it unsettles her.

“I gathered,” she replies, lifting her drink to her mouth and sipping at it delicately. “Her idea was it?” she asks, gesturing to Katie. When Emily nods, Effy just shakes her head. “Let’s see if we can’t find something that’s a little more you, shall we?” she regards Emily again, arching a perfectly manicured eyebrow in question.

“OK,” she answers cautiously, and they progress slowly across the room, but there’s no fighting to get past this time, with Effy following, it’s like she’s some sort of goddess by association and they all move back out of their way. It’s fucking amazing. Like Moses and the Red Sea or something equally biblical.

Emily grips onto the stair rail for balance as they go up, listening to the heavier footsteps of Effy’s boots on the stairs, wondering what she’ll be transformed into by the time she’s finished. She likes the idea that she’ll look different from Katie, maybe even look better. It’s a strange feeling, but not an uncomfortable one, and if Naomi arrived just in time to see her, it’d be worth waiting for.

***

If Katie were here now, witnessing this, she’d have a fucking fit. As soon as they were through the door – thankfully no one was in there, though her parents room was another matter _entirely_ – Effy put their drinks down on the chest of drawers, and surveyed the room; giving a little amused noise that’s not quite a laugh when she saw a bare-chested 50 Cent glaring down at her.

“Interesting décor,” she remarks.

“Yeah, Katie’s …”

“Do you answer everything someone says with the word ‘Katie’?” Effy looks at her, puzzled from behind the wardrobe door. “I’m talking to you, not her,” she adds, looking at her for long seconds before turning back and beginning to pick through the rail at speed.

She tries not to think about what Effy’s just said, and what it all means, so she busies herself with getting rid of her hideous make-up instead, sitting down at their dressing table, rubbing hard at it with various cloths and pads. 

“Try this, it’s nice,” Effy holds up a simple dark blue shirt dress, it’s Emily’s of course, her favourite. “I like it,” she qualifies with a smile, and Emily suddenly realises why the whole college is under her spell. There’s something so completely magnetic about her, but instead of it being frightening, it’s just fantastic and makes you feel wonderful. After a while, Emily thinks it might be a bit dangerous, but right now it’s the boost she needs; the comfort she’s been seeking.

Emily turns on her chair to look at it, “That’s what I started out wearing,” she sighs, remembering Katie’s disdain for it. “This,” she gestures to herself, “Was Katie’s idea.”

“Oh,” is all Effy replies, but it says everything. She brings the dress over, and then crosses back to sit on the edge of Emily’s bed. “Is she always like that?”

“Like what?” Emily asks, turning her back to Effy a little embarrassed, whilst she changes.

All the while, she can still feel Effy’s eyes on her, analysing and observing. Katie’s shoes get tossed into the corner, her hideous dress is flung onto Katie’s bed without another thought, and the fishnets will eventually go in the bin. The second she puts on the other dress, and begins to button it, she feels better, feels right, and feels comfortable, something which she hasn’t felt all night. She’ll take it as a good omen.

“So …” she trails off, searching for the words, “domineering?”

“Yeah,” Emily shrugs, turning back to Effy and smoothing the dress down.

Effy stands up and admires her, “See, I was right, it looks good,” she nods approval. “What about that guy before, downstairs, was that Katie’s idea too?” she continues, sneaking the question in.

Emily freezes mid-search for some shoes that she won’t break her neck in on Katie’s side of the room. So, someone _had_ seen. Fuck, why did it have to be Effy? Effy who talks to Naomi and has probably related the whole fucking episode to her via text. She turns round to face her, ashamed. The way she asks, it’s too knowing, there’s something else there. Emily doesn’t even want to think about the fact she might have picked up on something.

“That was a mistake,” she replies, and swallows hard. “ _My_ mistake,” she adds, looking away from Effy’s intense gaze. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

“Hey,” Effy softens a little, “parties are for getting trashed and kissing random people. If you can remember the party,” she pauses to take a sip of her drink, “Well, it was a shit party, wasn’t it?” Effy smirks, and Emily can’t help but laugh then, and it breaks the tension.

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Emily replies, feeling a little better about it.

She sits down at the dressing table again, running a brush through her hair as she looks at her reflection once more, flinching when she hits knots. Crimewatch girl was gone, replaced with one of the one of the fucking undead. It might work for vampires, but it sure as hell didn’t work for her.

Effy crosses the room and picks up a tube of lipgloss off the table, “How about we go for something a little less garish? The only people who should look like clowns on a daily basis are –”

“Clowns?” Emily laughs, taking the light pink shade from Effy’s hand and applying it liberally.

It’s a thinly-veiled little nod to her sister of course. Her nighttime mode of make up was even heavier than the daytime version. She’d told her countless times she didn’t really need any of it, but she wouldn’t have it, trowling it on in the name of boys and ‘looking the best she could,’ apparently.

“Exactly, but a little eyeliner isn’t out of the question,” she bends down a little, tilting Emily’s head up, so she can put it on.

Usually, Emily hates being made up this way, forced to sit still, worked on like she’s a giant fucking Girls World, but she’s nowhere near as practiced as her sister when it comes to this stuff. Lipgloss, sure; mascara at a push, but she’s never had a steady enough hand to do the more intricate stuff like this, and she’d likely stab herself in the eye with the pencil, so she’s glad Effy’s here to help.

Effy goes back and forth, picking up different powders, eyeshadows, and mascaras, making a complete mess of Katie’s make-up box as she goes. Emily’s itching to put it back as neatly as it once was, knowing what ear-splitting screaming it’ll cause when she comes across it later on. Finally, Effy settles on something and goes to work. After a couple of minutes, she steps back to admire her handiwork, and to Emily’s surprise, she looks rather pleased.

“Much better,” she says, looking her over. “Take a look,” she reaches forward, and turns Emily’s chair to face the mirror.

It takes Emily a few seconds to register that the fresh-faced, rather pretty girl staring back is actually her.

“Wow,” is all she can muster, turning her head from side to side, and she sees Effy smile, properly, genuinely.

It’s light, barely there compared to what Katie had done before, but it looks beautiful, even if she says so herself. It’s all matched in with what she’s wearing perfectly. Before her, is a toned down take on Effy’s signature smoky-eyes, liberal mascara and liner, complete with those Amy Winehouse little flicks at the corners that she can never get quite right.

“It suits you,” she adds, stepping away again.

“Thanks,” Emily stands up, smiling, feeling suddenly confident, like she’d be able to handle anything. Usually, because she’s quite tactile, she’d hug her, but hugging doesn’t feel right, so there’s an odd few seconds where she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

“It’s nothing,” Effy brushes her praise off with a shrug. “Time for Cinderella to go back to the ball, don’t you think?”

***

Sure enough, when they get back into things, Lady Gaga is still booming out as it had been when they disappeared upstairs. The looks she gets this time are the right kind. The lanky ginger-haired pothead from the garden stands with his mouth open for a full minute before Effy saunters past and taps his jaw closed. Emily swings off the banister and smiles at him rather smugly.

“Jesus, thanks for doing a disappearing act, Eff!”

The second she hears it, Emily knows exactly who it is. She closes her eyes for a moment, steeling herself. She’d been imagining this all night, but now it was here, she didn’t know what to do. Though Katie reappearing would undoubtedly set off World War bastard Three, she couldn’t help but feel happy – OK, make that massively fucking elated – that she was actually here. Katie could go fuck herself. She’d deal with the questions and the bitching in the morning.

“I was doing something very important, and, I think you’re perfectly capable of getting drunk on your own, Campbell.”

“Fuck you, Stonem.” Naomi shoots back.

They share a laugh, and something in Emily’s stomach lurches.  There’s a familiarity there, history maybe, and she’s immediately envious. Sickeningly envious. It all made sense now, of course they talked all week, they knew each other already.  Fate meant that they went to different secondary schools, and the only time Emily saw her was at the bus stop, on the way there.  They must have gone to the same one.

“Helping me, actually,” she comes into the room properly, opening her mouth before she realises. It sounds harsher than she intends. “Bit of a fashion emergency.”

When she finally sets eyes on Naomi, she almost forgets to breathe.  This was the first real chance she’s had to get a look at her since the incident in the gym. Everyone else just fades away, and everything seems to slow; Naomi’s all she can focus on.  Fucking hell, she’s beautiful, so incredibly beautiful.  Just the sight stirs things in Emily that have been dormant, unattended to, in years.

Naomi’s a bit drunk, and her cheeks are flushed; and her hair, it’s just so perfectly smooth, and it looks so soft she wants to touch it. There’s this cute little clip in it to stop it falling in her eyes but it’s not really working, because she has to keep flicking it back again. Everything she’s wearing clashes, and Emily can’t help but smile. She’s wearing a t-shirt of some band she’s never heard of, proper vintage, not like the ones she and Katie get from Topshop, and a black waistcoat. Emily can’t help it when her eyes drop that bit lower, registering she’s wearing an incredibly short denim mini skirt. Oh Jesus, legs. That’s all she can think. Legs.

***

Effy speaks then or Emily hears her speak, she can’t really tell, because suddenly, Naomi’s much closer to her, and they’ve been talking all this time. Emily’s heart picks up, and her mouth’s dry. She’s so close in fact, if she moved her hand, just a little, they’d be touching.

“Yeah, dress versus beer,” Effy sidles up, pulling her into the conversation more, putting a hand on her shoulder. Naomi looks her up and down for a second, fiddling with the label her empty bottle, peeling it off in tiny pieces.

Effy motions to the football boys with a slight nod of her head and Naomi looks across in disgust. She’s just lied, without even speaking, and it’s fucking amazing. Emily feels like she should be writing this down for future bloody reference.

Naomi rolls her eyes in reply, “Pricks. They really shouldn’t be allowed out.”

Emily gives a little nod, having somehow lost the power of speech; hating that she just looks like the sweet, shy little girl Naomi’s always known her as. It’s fucking awkward, and she wants the floor to swallow her whole. Who knew there were different kinds of humiliation?

“Speaking of pricks, I better go and rescue Panda from the twat in the hat,” Effy shakes her head, motioning to the Mraz clone in the kitchen, who’s doling out some of Katie’s punch for an excited Panda. “Or maybe, I should rescue him from her?!”

With that, Effy disappears, and Emily panics, sure that her eyes have just popped fully out of her head like a cartoon. It was alright when she was here, she had time to think, but now she was in the deep end. She’s finally gotten what she wanted – inches from Naomi – and now she’s floundering. What is it they say, be careful what you wish for? Too fucking right. This was hopeless. She knew it. She knew she’d just go to pieces.

Effy turns back again, and mouths a ‘go on,’ and it hits Emily then, she knew. She knew all a-fucking-long and she never said a word. If Effy had seen her and Constantine together, then Naomi could have too. Fuck.

Emily swallows hard; forcing herself to speak, “Do you want another?” she tilts her head toward the bottle in Naomi’s hand.

“If you’ve got something that doesn’t taste like piss and won’t turn me into a diabetic after one sip, that’d be fantastic.”

Emily laughs, still a little nervous, “I think I can manage that.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"It’s a gift, this new chance with Naomi, and she doesn’t want to waste it ..."_

It’s a bit bold, a bit cheeky, and quite frankly fucking inspired, what she’s doing. She’s finally taken charge of the situation, quite literally. The second Naomi’s reply left her mouth, Emily look her hand without thinking, lacing their fingers together, and now she’s leading her through the house, squeezing past people as they go. Good things happen when she doesn’t think. Like the first chaste little kiss they shared on Carly Vinson’s lawn during a sleepover as they watched the sun come up. It’s the most beautiful, perfect moment in her life. Ever.

Emily remembers her eyes, always, so wonderfully blue; and how blonde her hair was – she’d just bleached it, a few days before – and how nice it felt with Naomi’s arm round her loosely. Then, it’s the orange glow reflecting off all the windows of the houses in the cul-de-sac. Gentle. That’s how it was, incredibly gentle and nervous, with Naomi touching her face, and she thought she might die in that very instant, because it felt like her heart was exploding in her chest.

Nothing like any other kiss before or since.

She’s smiling now, at the memory of it, feeling Naomi tug on her hand. Then, Emily refuses to think for a different reason. It’s always tainted, always ruined, by what came after, when it all unravelled. When they unravelled. Mostly, she remembers all the screaming, the fighting, and later, the guilt and the loneliness. Screwing her eyes closed, she forces herself to remember her plan and what this was supposed to be about: fun, and dancing and getting trashed, but most of all it was about putting all those ghosts to rest.

Those feelings will never really go, she knows it. She also knows that she’ll always be in debt to Naomi for never betraying her and telling them the truth. It makes her want to turn around then, and say sorry – she has a million times over, in her head – and say thank you all at the same time, but she knows Naomi will think she’s ridiculous; think her silly and stupid.

So she says nothing.

***

Out of sheer habit, she keeps checking for Katie every few seconds, glancing round corners twice, overly cautious, like she and Naomi are in some shitty Hollywood espionage film and she’s their mortal enemy. Emily’s got no fucking idea how Naomi’s managed to steer clear of her sister all night, but then, it’s what she’s good at; hiding herself and avoiding people. She and Naomi would make good spies, she thinks. Life has made good liars out of them. They glance at each other every so often, when they can see each other, and it’s all a bit fucking silly, and they giggle because it’s ridiculous. Naomi’s laughter is infectious. It crosses Emily’s mind that she’s never heard it as much before. They keep bumping into people, and they just laugh again, caring less about the scowls, frowns and ‘what the fucks’ they get when they go past.

Even now, she’s wondering why Naomi’s letting herself be lead, why she’s not just stopped all this at some point and asked her where the fuck the drink is. It doesn’t mean anything; it can’t mean anything, can it? After a few more seconds, and a near-miss with some lanky dickhead on a skateboard – she’s about to tell him off, because that’s _not_ what you do in someone’s house, but fuck it, she’s not his mother – she decides she rather likes being mysterious, so it’s Naomi who’s curious.

Naomi’s hand squeezes hers tighter when some of the Beauty Bitches trail upstairs. Emily turns in response, and sees her making a face at them, full of disdain, like they’re so fucking completely stupid they shouldn’t be upright, and their continued existence is draining valuable oxygen for the rest of them. They smile at each other again; it’s a different smile, like they share something, something special.

Then, it’s gone again.

***

“Fuck are we going?!” Naomi asks, finally.

Emily freezes, hearing voices, and she panics a bit. In what feels like one motion, she’s untangled her hand from Naomi’s, pushed her against the wall, almost knocking over her mum’s favourite pot plant in the process – Naomi catches it, just in time – and now that same hand is clamped over her mouth instead.

Naomi looks at her, puzzled and obviously annoyed. She starts to say something that sounds like ‘the fuck Emily,’ but then stops.

“Shhhh!” she whispers, when those voices get closer. “It’s Katie, Katie and Freddie,” she continues lower still.

Emily watches Naomi’s eyes widen, feels her breath, harder and faster against her hand. There’s a flicker of fear in her eyes. It makes Emily’s stomach drop.

“Shit!” Emily breathes, suddenly speaking for them both, pressing closer into Naomi as they pass. She thinks she feels Naomi arm come around her waist, feels weight of some kind, but she daren’t move, and daren’t look away.

Katie’s got another drink in her hand and Freddie’s walking behind her, with his hands on her hips, steadying her a little. He leans down, and whispers something in Katie’s ear and it makes her laugh. She turns then, and swats him on the arm before she leans up and kisses him, softly, affectionately. He tries to deepen it, but she pulls away, and they just look at each other, gaze at each other, smiling, and then they disappear from sight, hand in hand. Emily’s half repulsed and half jealous, because it’s her sister and he’s just some pretty boy with _hair_ and she’s already made that mistake tonight; but she’d give anything to be with Naomi like that, free and open, instead of skulking and hiding like they’re criminals and they’re doing something wrong, if they were together of course. She and Naomi aren’t really anything.

Naomi mumbles something against her hand that sounds a lot like ‘for fuck’s sake’ and Emily cracks up, pulling it away.

“Fuck, I nearly had a heart attack then!” Naomi puts a hand to her chest.

“Jesus, I think she has radar!” Emily shakes her head in disbelief.

They both laugh then, relieved that they’ve escaped her, and they stand for a moment, just looking at each other. Suddenly, Naomi feels _very_ close and it’s all a bit much, the way she’s staring. She keeps licking lips every so often, and Emily can feel herself growing hot, like when she looked at her in the living room, but it’s different, somehow. Her heart rams in her chest and she can’t stop looking either. Down at her side, their fingertips are lightly brushing together, and it’s just … she wants to kiss her, kiss her really; to see if she really feels something or she’s just imagined it all this time, but she’s too afraid.

“We … should,” she smiles shyly, barely able to look at her.

“Yeah,” Naomi replies, almost whispering, but that sounds different too, huskier maybe. She looks flushed again, a deeper shade, that’s nothing to do with what she’s drunk.

It’d take nothing. Naomi would only need to tilt her head down slightly – there isn’t that much difference between them anymore, thanks to her fabulous, yet agonising heels. Emily’s stomach flips over twice. And it’s horribly awkward for a few moments. They’ve been here before in this limbo of a place, and it didn’t end well.

***

The giggling and the jostling soon returns though, when she nearly trips as they go down the steps toward the garage. There’s no cars, it’s her father’s den, his escape, that’s why she thought of it. They’ll be alone then too, and that’s a bit terrifying (and a bit exhilarating too, because she’s realised she doesn’t really trust herself sober now, much less drunk, but she’s just going with it; letting go. Naomi steadies her, and whispers something about protecting her and Emily swallows hard. It’s a bit darker down here, so she lets her hand find Naomi’s again, and their fingers lace together once more. The thrill that rushes through her is just the same as before.

“Here we are,” Emily smiles, letting go of Naomi’s hand because she’s getting far, far too comfortable.

“Finally! Christ, remind me to bring my own next time!” she sighs rather dramatically.

“Sorry,” Emily replies, feeling a little guilty.

“No you’re not!” Naomi smiles, just, barely letting her mouth curve before it’s disappeared, but there’s a softness to her voice that’s different; that Emily’s never heard before.

She just watches her, ignoring the loud thumping of her heart.

“Ooh, is there a code lock and stuff?!” Naomi asks, looking round, eyes agleam.

Emily looks at her for a minute, unsure if she’s taking the piss, because she seems to have developed a rather devilish sarcastic streak in the intervening years – her jokes were always clever though – but then decides she might’ve actually meant it. So much for the cool, aloof demeanour, Naomi ‘smart arse’ Campbell is just a big fucking geek.

“Nope, just a key, if I can get it, that is,” she reaches up on her tiptoes, unsteady.

Even now, she’s only just able to feel for it, taped to the top of the doorframe. Hardly the best security measure, and a pretty shit deterrent, but her dad had only done it to keep James out, since he’d need a fucking step ladder to reach. She isn’t much better off though. After all these years she’s sure there’s some correlation between the fact that they’re forced to eat like rabbits and the fact she’s almost the same height as when she was twelve.

“Here, let me,” Naomi offers, trying not to laugh.

Of course, _she_ can reach, puberty turned her into a sodding Amazon woman, after all. Emily just feels a bit stupid then, and a lot embarrassed that she didn’t just ask. Naomi passes it to her, and she fumbles with the lock, feeling even stupider as the seconds pass. Out of the corner of her eye, she can still see Naomi there, arms patiently folded, with a wry smile on her face.

“Fuck sake!” Emily sucks in a breath, looks up at the ceiling, praying to _whatever_ to give her a fucking break.

“I think it might be a push door, actually,” she leans over, and pushes the handle down whilst Emily turns the key. Naomi pushes against her then, and between them, and they finally make it though the door.

Emily just about manages to squeak out a “Thanks,” entirely stuck on the fact that Naomi’s body’s been in very close contact to hers. A familiar ache settles in her belly then, and she wishes it away.

When it closes, slamming so loudly it makes her jump, and it’s odd to think there’s only a short flight of stairs and a door separating them from the rest of the party, but it’s enough, it’s just what they need. Maybe it’s too much? Maybe she’s risking too much, but she’s here now, and can’t really turn back.

She snaps on the light and does a quick search round the room to make sure there’s nothing dodgy hanging about. Booze, of course; her Uncle Steve’s fags, definitely; but anything else was off the menu. Leaning against the door, she watches Naomi take it all in, like she’s somewhere incredibly important.

It’s embarrassing really, the way this place is decorated, with the dart board and the table football and the widescreen telly. It looks like one of those dodgy sports bars in town, only in miniature. Almost every wall has something connected to her father’s beloved Liverpool, everything from yellowing newspaper cut-outs to a bloody flag. Then of course, there are the framed photos of him with various z-list celebrities at Fitch Fitness, and the most embarrassing of all, pictures of her, Katie and James when they were little. Emily hopes she doesn’t look too closely at those.

“Shit, you brought me to your Dad’s porn den?!” Naomi spins round slowly, with a completely unreadable expression. Emily isn’t sure if she’s impressed or appalled.

“I didn’t!” Emily protests, motioning to the corner where her dad keeps all his drink as proof. She watches Naomi’s eyes light up, and they immediately go over to the shelves.

“Fucking hell, it’s like an Offy in here!” Naomi bends down and looks through all the bottles.

Emily comes tentatively closer, dropping down and kneeling next to her, “He comes down here to watch the football with my uncle and their mates. Sometimes he just comes down here to get the fuck away from my mum.”

“She still a bitch then?” she inquires giving her a sideways glance, trying desperately not to smile.

“Yeah, you only saw it at Parents Evening, try living with it!” Naomi gives a little yet rather knowing snort at this, and it sets Emily off laughing.

“No fucking thank you!” she replies quickly, shaking her head extra hard.

“Swap you?” Emily asks, leaning forward and taking the Jack Daniels, holding it up to see how much they can get away with drinking before it’ll be noticed.

Naomi leans back on her heels with a bottle of vodka in her hand that’s three quarters full. “Do you want to live in house full of randoms who thieve shit from your bedroom and empty your fridge because your mother’s a fucking bleeding-heart liberal hippie who couldn’t say no if her life depended on it?”

“Erm.”

“Thought not!” Naomi smiles, and it’s a proper smile, it goes all the way to her eyes. Emily has to remind herself to breathe. “So, are you opening that or what?” she asks, pointing at the bottle. “I came to get drunk, not talk,” she stands up, taking two tumbler glasses off the top shelf of the cabinet. The vodka comes too, tucked underneath her arm.

“Oh, yeah,” Emily scrambles to her feet and then onto the sofa nearby, reminded of why they’re here. It’s vintage, she feels like saying, because that’s what her father always comes out with whenever people sit on it, but she’s being enough of a twat already without resorting to dad speak. She crosses one leg over the other, attempting to sit neatly and look ladylike. Her dress wasn’t really made to sit down in.

“Though, if I _have_ to talk, then I’d rather do it with you than any of those brainless wankers out there!” Naomi says, gesturing to the door as she sits down next to her, folding one leg underneath herself. There’s a small gap between them. A respectable gap, Emily thinks as she feels herself blush at Naomi’s words.

Emily pours with a rather shaky hand, only just covering the bottom of their glass and they clink them together in toast before tipping their heads back and downing it in one like a shot. Emily flinches a bit at the taste: strong, smoky and sweet, burning her throat as it goes down. She glances over at the mixers, but she really doesn’t want to move, feeling herself start to relax immediately, and it’s less of a big deal that she and Naomi are sat there together.

“That’s more fucking like it!” Naomi announces, spinning the cap off the bottle and looking at her pointedly “More?” she asks with a mischievous glint in her eyes. A rather fucking sexy mischievous glint.

“Fuck it, go on then,” she concedes, tilting her glass before she can change her mind.

“Good girl!” Naomi beams, looking a bit surprised maybe a bit impressed as she slams the bottle down on the floor.

Emily’s heart swells to three times its size then. Everyone always thinks she’s the goody-goody, well fuck that, it’s got her nowhere thus far.

“Cigarette?” she offers, reaching into her pocket when their glasses are empty.

“Yeah,” Emily shrugs. “We shouldn’t really, but …” she tails off, because she doesn’t know how to end that sentence without sounding like a moron or a complete fucking saddo. If she could, she’d slap herself.

There’s a nagging tiny voice in Emily’s head wants to protest, tell Naomi that she’ll get in trouble and possibly get grounded for the rest of her natural life on top of what’ll happen if their parents arrive mid party, but fuck it, you only live once, and this feels like a once only type of event, so she’s just going to go with it and see what happens.

“Well, technically,” Naomi leans forward, and spreads out her Rizla and tobacco on the table, a bit like a surgeon. “You’re not supposed to be throwing a party either, but here we are,” she adds, and glances back at her quickly.

“Good … point,” she manages to reply, as she watches Naomi creating the most perfect roll-ups she’s ever seen. They’re neat and skinny, like ordinary cigarettes. Katie would be extraordinarily jealous, theirs always came out massive and fat, great for spliffs, but fags? Not so much.

Her mouth gapes a bit when she watches Naomi’s tongue dart out, moistening the paper on the one she’s just finished making.

“For you, Madame!” Naomi presents it with a flourish, and pops between Emily’s lips at a jaunty angle, and there’s a neon pink lighter in her face, sparking up without her saying anything at all.

Of course, she’s so enthralled by the fact that Naomi’s so close to her – her body’s turned, so their knees are touching, that she coughs on the first drag, spluttering all over the place. Fucking classy that.

“Fuck me,” Naomi laughs, shaking her head as she reaches over to pat her on the back. “Steady there,” she looks at her so tenderly, Emily almost can’t breathe.

This is what it’d be like if they were together, if Naomi were her girlfriend. She’d make a lovely girlfriend. Her first.

***

Emily’s still thinking about that whilst Naomi’s looking at all her father’s memorabilia. She stops every so often, her interest piqued by something, and she’s waiting for her to turn around with some embarrassing baby photo. They’re dotted about, she knows it. She’ll freely admit she’s a daddy’s girl, but he’s also incredibly proud father who likes nothing more than whipping out pictures of them at the least appropriate moment. She imagines him standing there next to her, chattering away, and Emily would be begging him to stop before he gets to anything involving watch batteries and their ‘tiny little noses’ – they were four, and it was all Katie’s fucking fault.

“Earth to Emily!” Naomi calls, hovering in front of her and snapping her fingers in front of her face. “Got any music?” she asks, swigging the Jack Daniels straight from the bottle. “Not really a party without music, even if this is a rather _select_ gathering,” she continues, adopting a posh accent for effect.

“My dad’s got shitloads of records, vinyl,” Emily gets up far too quickly, and all the blood rushes to her head.

“Really, where?! Naomi looks round, playing with her hair.

“Here.”

Emily drags over the record box and flips through it quickly. It’s full of prog rock and northern soul, along with some seriously questionable novelty singles that were they not worth a fucking fortune, their mum would’ve gotten rid of them. There, in the middle, shining like a fucking beacon is Blondie’s Eat to the Beat, and Debbie Harry’s staring up at her from the cover, all mysterious and alluring like some sort of peroxide messiah. She offers it up to Naomi with a grin.

“Blondie, fucking hell!” she practically runs over to the turntable, leaving the bottle on the floor again nearby. “I love Blondie!”

“I know,” she replies, quietly. There are Blondie badges on Naomi’s bag, and on Tuesday, she wore a t-shirt with Debbie’s face on, all bright and garish, like a Warhol painting. It’s just scraps though in the scheme of things; she doesn’t really know her at all. No one does.

Emily takes the record out of the sleeve, flips it over and puts it down, lifting the needle to it.

“No, no, not like that! You’ll scratch it!” Naomi practically screeches, coming behind her, placing her hand over Emily’s, treating things much more carefully. “Like this, be gentle.”

Emily lets out a shallow breath. She’s desperate to turn now, to kiss her, deep and lingering, put her arms around her, because it’s just too fucking much all this, being close to her without touching her.

After a few crackles, the familiar riff of ‘Atomic’ fills the air, and Naomi twirls her round toward the middle of the room. They start to sing – badly – along to it at the top of their lungs and the dancing’s even worse, but she doesn’t give a fuck because it’s bloody fantastic, and then they’re circling each other, a bit too, while they look into each other’s eyes and then they start to sing it to each other, and Debbie’s voice fades away. Naomi starts spinning round with her cigarette in her mouth trailing smoke, being a massive fucking show-off, and she looks so, so completely free, so incredibly gorgeous that Emily can’t help but watch her. It hits her, full force, like a fucking train: Naomi’s the one she’s loved all this time. She’s _in_ love with her.

***

She’s not sure how long they’ve been sat there, passing the vodka back and forth, collapsing in a heap on the sofa after they got a bit too hyped up; knackered and dizzy from dancing. The music’s long since finished and the record’s just spinning, crackling away, unattended. The Jack Daniels is gone too. Every time Emily puts the bottle to her lips she can’t help but think how it’s like kissing her, sort of. It makes the vodka taste sweeter somehow. Emily sits back, letting it all wash over her, listening to the sound of Naomi’s voice, lulled by it almost.

They’ve been talking for a bit, taking the piss mostly, with the Beauty Bitches coming up frequently. Of course, they’ve eventually got round to everyone else in their form, in fits of giggles, leaning on each other, because the drink’s doing it’s work and making it all feel easy and lovely, like it was before when they were younger. The intervening years have made them slightly more discerning with the drink though. Back then it was cheap shit, like White Lightning, and they barely took two sips before they thought they were drunk.

Emily almost chokes again when Naomi declares that Freddie’s nickname shall, henceforth, be ‘The Lips,’ after that dose of PDA they witnessed. Her choice for Cook makes Emily laugh even more, because she just frowned and said he should be called ‘Cock’ instead, because that’s what he was. Emily feels a massive surge of jealousy when Naomi mentions he’s already tried it on twice tonight. It’s replaced with relief a few moments later when she announces that he’s a prick, and she wouldn’t go out with him even if he was the last bloke on earth and he had the cure to a deadly disease she’d contracted.

That sets them off again, and another round of drinking begins, in slower, longer sips. Naomi had even taken to holding up the end of the bottle, so Emily drinks that bit more, not that there’s much left to be had.

“You’re funny when you’re drunk!” Naomi says, with a smile. “Don’t be so shy,” she continues, touching her forearm gently.

“I’m not!”

“Not what?”

“Funny,” Emily smiles, sliding her hand over the top of Naomi’s.

They settle back into the sofa, almost horizontal they’ve slouched down so much. Emily begins to stroke the back of Naomi’s hand gently, and she watches her eyes flutter closed.

“I like this, Emily,” Naomi says, softly, and Emily thinks her heart might burst out of her chest.

Emily knows it’s quite possible Naomi _could_ be properly drunk and she doesn’t really mean it, but her overriding feeling is happiness, because this is what she imagined when Katie pitched the night to her, like it was a dream; a dream for sale.

***

“I wish I’d found you before,” Emily comments rather wistfully, sometime later, when she passes the bottle back to Naomi suddenly after they’ve fallen into a comfortable silence. She’s not sure if she means tonight or her entire life.

“Really?” Naomi shifts that little bit closer, and Emily’s almost tempted to rest her head on Naomi’s shoulder. “I’m glad I listened to Effy now,” she admits, quietly, looking at her shoes, scuffing them together.

Emily pushes herself up, “You weren’t going to come, were you?”

“Nope. I didn’t feel like getting harassed by your bitch of a sister and parties aren’t really my thing,” she purses her lips together, and the weight she gives to the latter part of the sentence is all too telling.

“So what changed your mind?” Emily asks, before she even realises.

She watches Naomi’s profile intently as she sparks up another cigarette, as if she’s looking at her anew. The flame briefly illuminates her features, and she decides, quite quickly, that Naomi has the most beautiful face she’s ever seen.

Naomi turns to her then, and says, simply, “You did.”

Emily’s well and truly embarrassed now, feeling like she’s glowing, because she’s dreamt of Naomi saying things like this, and she can’t quite believe this is happening.

Reality creeps back in quickly when she looks at Naomi’s hand resting gently on her knee to comfort her, and sees the scar on her little finger. Emily knows exactly how it got broken, and that there are probably more scars in other places. Knows too that bruises the size of her fist have bloomed on Naomi’s skin angrily and though they’ve long since disappeared; she still hates that she let it all happen, that she felt so powerless because Katie was the one behind it all, with Carly, Zoe and Claire despatched to do her dirty work. When she remembers Naomi, in a heap at the bottom of the stairs at school, unconscious, she closes her eyes tight to stop herself from crying.

That image will never fade.

“I’m sorry.” Emily blurts out, glancing up at her.

Naomi’s brows furrow, “For what?”

“For not telling the truth. For letting them hurt you,” Emily can barely look her in the eye. She feels her throat constricting, tears welling in the back of her eyes.

“Oh Emily,” Naomi sighs, stubbing out her cigarette in the glass on the table. “It was fucking years ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It matters to me!” she cries, indignant. Her voice breaks and tears start to roll down her cheeks.

“Please don’t Ems. They aren’t worth it,” Naomi leans forward and brushes them away.

“Naomi …” she whimpers, sniffing back more tears.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore, OK?” she pauses and tries to gather herself. “I’d rather it was me than you … I couldn’t watch them do that to you,” there are tears in her eyes now too.

She leans forward on impulse, brushing her lips gently against Emily’s. It’s barely anything, but Emily feels it, feels it everywhere. Naomi’s lips are so soft and careful.

“Naomi …” Emily pulls back, surprised. She can barely hear anything her heart’s beating so fast.

“I know you wanted to, and I knew you’d never do it,” she smiles softly, rubbing a thumb carefully across Emily’s cheek. “You’re still so afraid, aren’t you?”

Emily nods, slowly. There’s no use in lying, Naomi knows too much. She takes a breath and closes the space between them. They kiss again, slow and tentative at first, little pecking kisses. Naomi’s hand comes up to Emily’s face and cradles the back of her head, pulling her closer. This isn’t ending, she isn’t going anywhere. It builds quickly then, growing deeper, harder and more passionate. Naomi moans a little when Emily’s tongue slides into her mouth, and she pushes her backwards, snaking an arm snaking round Emily’s back as their bodies shift, and suddenly, Naomi’s on top of her. It’s so different compared to Constantine. This is what it should have felt like; natural, like breathing almost. Like she should’ve been kissing Naomi her all her life.

They kiss with less urgency now and Emily’s hand goes up into Naomi’s hair, mimicking her, running her fingers through it slowly. It’s so completely different to their kiss on the lawn, because it’s like they’re seeing each other, exploring each other for the first time, and it really means something. It means that she was right, that Naomi wanted her all along, and all she had to do was wait. Her hand drifts downwards, slipping underneath Naomi’s t-shirt, finding warm, smooth skin, and she knows it was worth it when she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she moans into her mouth and kisses her harder. Then, Naomi’s hands are moving too, skimming up her side, headed towards buttons, and Emily thinks about the very real possibility of being naked; thinks about Naomi touching her, and she can feel herself growing wet in anticipation. She arches up into Naomi, not wanting it to end, because this is turning out to be the best fucking party she’s ever been to in her whole fucking life.

***

Suddenly, there’s a loud clattering, followed by a sudden burst of dance music, and a familiar voice.

“Found them! Bloody hell, Eff, they’re kissing, with tongues and everything!”

Emily jumps out of her skin, and they break apart. Her mind is racing, trying to think of things to say when she sees Pandora, standing in the doorway, with her jaw on the floor, eyes wide.

“Fucking hell!” Naomi gets out, breathless as she scrambles off her.

For one horrible moment, Emily thinks she’s going to say it all again, louder, and Katie will come barging in, and history will repeat itself.

“Shut up, Pandora,” Effy walks in after her, like a fucking knight, only she’s wearing motorcycle boots and there’s no horse. She’s got this smug grin on her face, like she expected to find them exactly like this.

Adjusting her dress, Emily finally sits up. It takes her a few seconds to dare to look at Naomi, but when she does, they blush furiously and exchange shy smiles. Definitely different. Her panic lifts immediately.

“Sorry to spoil the private party, but Katie’s going mental about a vase, and I think she’s in serious danger of bursting something vital,” Effy shrugs, sips on her drink. Her smile never fades.

“Oh shit,” Emily sighs, dragging a hand through her messy hair.

“Yeah, it’s all gone tits up, and the boys are kicking everyone out,” Panda adds, dramatically. True enough, they can just hear the sound of the front door slamming.

“She was going to come and look for you, but I volunteered, being the good Samaritan that I am,” Effy takes one of the few roll-ups left on the table, and lights it, taking a quick puff before passing it to Naomi.

“Cheers, Eff, I owe you one,” she gets up off the sofa, patting Effy on the shoulder as she heads for the door.

“You owe me _several_ , Campbell,” Effy smiles, and pops the cigarette into Naomi’s mouth. She takes a long, hard drag. “I’ll collect later.”

“I better make my escape then, hadn’t I?”

Naomi turns back to look at her and she smiles again, wider, surer. This time, their kiss didn’t feel like an end, but rather a beginning.

“Come on Panda, let’s go, before your mum kills us both,” Effy gives Panda a little shove in the right direction. “I think even the most enthusiastic Christian Mission meetings don’t last for three hours.”

“We can make something up on the way,” she nods, and then, “I didn’t know girls did surf and turf too, Eff?” she announces as they go up the stairs.

Emily stays silent, mortified. It fades when Naomi’s hand brushes against hers and she glances up at her, biting down on her lip.

“Of course they do, Pandora,” Effy replies, draping her arm around Pandora’s shoulders. “Boys aren’t everything.”

***

When they get back upstairs, it looks like a fucking bomb’s hit it, and it’s eerily quiet; very post-apocalyptic. Cook’s seeing the last of their guests out the door, and when he spots them, he grins, wide. Emily feels herself flush all over again. There’s a flurry of quick goodbyes and waves before Naomi, Effy and Panda slip out while no one else is looking. She stands there with Cook, watching them go, weaving down the street, she hears Effy laugh and Naomi shoves her away.

Emily touches her fingers to her lips, absently, feeling a little sad that they didn’t get to say goodbye properly, but they’ll be alright this time, she hopes. It’s a gift, this new chance with Naomi, and she doesn’t want to waste it.

“Someone had a good time, then?” he gives her a playful little dig and winks at her.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she replies, walking off, with a grin on her face.

“Where the fuck have you been?!” Katie hisses, shoving a black bin bag in her hand.

“I’m here now, calm the fuck down, alright?” she shoots back.

Katie just glares, her special ‘we’ll talk about it later’ glare.

“Babe,” Freddie comes up, kisses her cheek. “We’ll clean this up in no time, just say the vase was an accident.”

“Yeah, shit like that happens all the time!” Cook pipes up, stuffing a load of cups into Emily’s bag.

“Bigger shit will be happening if we don’t sort this out, though,” she admits, looking round.

“Too right, titch,” Cook agrees.

It kicks them all into gear then, and they’re all running round like headless chickens to get everything cleaned up. Katie’s vacuuming like a madwoman, while JJ’s sorting all the bottles and cans as Emily carefully gathers up the pieces of the vase – a very expensive vase – they’re fucked if their mum finds out. She didn’t expect that they’d stay and help but her sister’s panicking clearly works wonders, since Freddie’s been glued to her side when he’s not checking under things for cigarette butts and any other crap that people might’ve left behind.

To her surprise, with all of them working together, it doesn’t take that long to get things sorted, or almost sorted anyway. Katie’s back to normal now, ordering everyone about, as per bloody usual, and Cook’s balancing precariously on a chair to take down the fairy lights. Emily just tunes her out, straightening the furniture with JJ. Nothing she can do will ruin her mood. Every time she licks her lips, she tastes Naomi’s lipgloss; tastes her. She has to remember not to smile too much. Katie’s been so preoccupied, they’ve barely said a word and she hasn’t noticed a thing.

***

Half an hour later, the others are gone, and James is upstairs in bed, stuffed with pizza from Gordon’s. She and Katie are sitting cross-legged on the sofa in their pyjamas, wrapped in a blanket and sharing a tub of Ben and Jerry’s while they watch Legally Blonde, and wait for their parents to get back. They’ve been laughing non-stop and chatting in the ad breaks, both feeling rather fucking smug that they’ve managed to pull off one of the best night’s ever, without having it broken up by the unexpected arrival of their parents or worse, the police. Constantine came up, of course, but things soon turned back to Freddie again and Katie’s been her usual swoony self ever since.

One day, she’ll tell her the truth. She’ll be able to tell her about Naomi and their snogging session and she won’t even flinch.

Katie’s falling asleep against her shoulder when she gets a text. She looks down at the screen, puzzled, because she doesn’t recognise the number, and she thinks about deleting it, her finger hovering over the button. Then, her attention’s caught by the sudden flash of headlights coming through the bay window, and their father’s car comes into view. She shifts a bit, to wake Katie up, or try to. She’d yell, usually, but thinks better of it, and nudges her gently instead. She’s been especially nice to her since Freddie left after a ten-minute goodnight kiss on the doorstep. If he’s going to make her like this all the time, he’s already a million times better than Danny sodding Guillermo.

As their father bounds through the door, typically loud, carrying a bunch of roses, he comes over and hugs them, practically squeezing them to death at the same time. Their mum shakes her head and swats him playfully on the arm as she passes, sitting down in the chair opposite, kicking off her shoes, sighing contentedly. Finally released from his grip, Emily realises she’s opened the text accidentally and a smile spreads across her face when she reads it:

_Hope I don’t have to wait four years for another kiss. N._


End file.
